Shikha's Story
by Kiariad
Summary: Ireland. A land of myths and legends. There is so little magic left in the world. It's drowned in cars and pollution and iPods. But every now and then, something happens, that brings a little sprakle back into the world
1. Prologue

**Re-edit A/N: I have had emails from some people asking why I haven't touched any of my stuff for months or done anythin new - and the truth is I have but it's not posted here. But also my family life has been appalling: my younger brother was depressed and is just coming off the anti-depressants, I haven't had more than two hours sleep for about six months and am currently exhausted due to school-related stress, family issues and the total inability to understand humanity and my parents haven't got a close enough relationship with me to help - my dad didn't even realise until I cried for about three hours straight on evening.**

**So I apologise if I just seemed to vanish, but I barely had the will to get out of bed in the morning never mind write. Hopefully this is starting to get behind us now, so I will be writing again.**

**I looked over this and spent about twenty minutes wincing at it, so since I've gone into perfectionist mode I may as well re-edit the whole damn thing. I don't know how frequent updates will be, but please hang with me, you guys have so great to me and I owe you so much right now.**

Max Valley.

Helena Valley.

Jaime Kanda.

Faye Fletcher.

Four names. To you, they may not mean anything. Not yet, anyway. Maybe they will if continue reading this. Then there's me. Right now I don't mean anything either. Maybe I will later. Maybe.

This won't make sense if you don't have an 'open mind', that's all I ask.

An open mind.

To me it's important, but it never was before. I never came across something that really required it. just everyday life that was set in stone and about as steady as a beating drum. Over and over.

It started years ago, decades before I was born, before you were. In an Irish town a girl called Maeve found something. An egg. That was the start and she was the first. She was the last too. The only. The only this world has ever seen.

Until now.

Now, of course, she's long gone, and so is what came out of that egg. But this isn't her story, it's mine. It's mine, it's Helena's, it's Jaime's, it's Faye's and it's Max's.

And it's Shikha's.

I don't know if you know what that means, heck – I don't understand anything anymore. Not even what is happening before my very eyes. Because everything that I have seen – that I have heard and touched and felt – it is the stuff of fairytales. One so rich and far-fetched not even the most naïve child would believe.

You don't have to believe me. You probably won't. But know this: I swear on everything that is sweet and good and beautiful in this or any other world that every word is as true as if it had come from God himself.

Look at me, getting all religious. I've never been religious before, never thought it was possible, but that's what something like this'll do to you. It will change everything.

**A/N: Now, I know what some of you are thinking: same old, same old. But with your help and my (somewhat fluctuating - and Arika/Sara/whoever, I did not just say that) brilliance, we can keep this original.**

**And on another point, this is a total re-edit, so it's the same plot but completely re-done, you can have read it before, but I'd reaad it again, since this is totally new stuff.**

**[And I totally love everyone who's reading this!!]**

**[And please review, a couple of words will do! I have left a total of 253 so far, and that's signed only!]**


	2. In The Beginning

**A/N: So, I have also totally slowed everything down, and that means that I think this is longer, yet a lot less has happened.. I'm re-doing so much that there may be inaccuracies within this and I'd be so so so grateful if you could point them out to me, since I find it hard to keep track of everything that's happened.**

**Disclaimer: Me no own-y, you no sue-y.**

_Who_, out there, can hold a grudge against _Ireland_? Honestly, it _has_ to be the most likeable place in the world. When it's not **freezing**, **windy**, **wet** or **just** **miserable**, I mean. Well I know of two people who can: the person sitting in my chair, wearing my cloths and jewellery and eating my breakfast (and so what it's midday?), while tapping my foot and drumming my fingers and my so-called best-friend, though _that_ is starting to be debateable given the mood she's in.

Her father says it's just a phase. Sure. One that started at birth and carried right on for the next sixteen years.

But despite the fact that I have been exposed to her from birth (thank you, whose ever idea _that _was), I am in shock right now.

For the first time in two weeks the sun is shining, the birds are singing and I have yet to see hide or hair of a cloud. So, typically, Helena's eyes have gone from blue to grey, her mouth is grim and her hair seems unusually blood-red. I still fail to see how it is not dyed.

I do not need to speak: one of the benefits of knowing someone for so long is that you know one-another as well as you know yourself. She knows I'm listening.

"They're at it again." I would bang my head on the table, but I have just managed to get my hair to behave so I think I'll give it a miss. You see, Helena dearest – the one currently pounding marmite and butter onto the desktop – has proved her ability to be more obsessive than Sauron and the One Ring. And her present obsession? Her father – God bless him – is apparently hiding something. Well shock horror. It must be the end of the world as we know it.

How I put up with her I shall never know.

"You love me, besides; I'm the only one in this family who can successfully navigate." I think the cat navigates quite well, thank you.

"The cat doesn't count." I hate it when she does this. The conversation seems so … _one sided_.

"Whatever, what are we going to do about _them_?"

"Helena, I love you to pieces and everything – God knows why, but there is no _we_. Christ, why must you be so _paranoid_? They're probably planning some _treat_ to a fishing village in the middle of nowhere, or whatever goes on in their tiny little brains. Jesus."

"You aren't paranoid if someone is actually trying to kill you, and what ever happened to family values – that's what I should like to know."

"Nobody is trying to kill you, moron, and your Mum's adopted – therefore this doesn't count. We aren't even proper _cousins_."

"… I am so bringing that up next time you want a favour."

Bitch.

"I love you to. I want to go out. We're going out." What did I just say about a 'we'? Does nobody listen to me? "'Course not: you're unnecessary. Now move."

Fun.

***

"Father dearest-" I watched with no small amount of amusement as Helena flounced into our rented front room. The pastel is enough to give you nightmares and the salmon is enough to make you squirm. Everything in this house is pastel. Even the Goddam bathroom. It's all salmon and fuschia and lavender – all of which clash, I might add. But oddly, I'm kinda fond of it. This conversation? Not so much.

"Eh, yes, Helena, what is it?" the General and my mother sit on the sofa together, relaxed, but all I can do is fidget.

"We're going out. Now."

"Now? But Helena-"

"Oh shush Daddy, you know I love you, but really, this is important. We _have_ to out _now_." I love her and everything, but she has got way to much control over her father. It's like a permanent guilt trip she has over him. Lucky for some.

"I thought we were going to the beach though pumpkin?" at least I don't have the embarrassing pet names. Still, I better step in; Helena's going red.

"What she means is that we've met some people in the village who we promised we'd meet." It's like they always say: when in doubt, lie.

"Yes, daddy, and you always say never break your promises." And now, we have him, like fish on a line.

It always amuses me that the General is so easy to wrap around his daughter's pinky finger. A great bear of a man, with ex-army credentials and a sword in the attic. Taller than anyone I've ever met with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, that's mostly salt nowadays, even though he's still young. His face is still young too, round with dimples and a kind mouth, but his brown eyes are childish and innocent, which is probably why he's so susceptible to a pretty face.

Oh – look, he's given in. _What_ a surprise. My mum is frowning, but she won't contradict him, she's too fond of the General, besides, it always seems that she's sucking up to Helena.

Why can't she suck up to me??

While being towed out the door by an impatient best friend, I consider objecting and going on the internet, but I've decided that the whining isn't worth it.

XxXxX

One thing that really gets me about Ireland is the weather. It's rainy and wet and damp and even when it isn't pouring with rain, it's still soggy from the last time it poured, and the ground squelches and just yuck. I am such a city kid.

But that morning, I spent more time walking than I would like to think. Admittedly, we didn't just _walk_; we mucked about, especially when we got out of the forest (the never-ending, tricksy, _evil_ forest), we got to the fields, and then the cliffs. I don't remember all of it, it kinda passed in a daze, but the running and the mucking about – it was fun. If anything, it was nice to just be free and to get to be kids again. There's nothing much I can ever remember as a little kid of really going mad with fun, unless I was with Helena. It was like a blast from the blast, but a good one.

My mother... she's a strict, businesslike woman, who's forever on her BlackBerry – even when we're on 'holiday,' and she never really encouraged play. She's one of _those_ people - you know the ones, business people. All pencil skirts, professionally dyed blond air (even though I got her naturally black hair), sun-tanned from business trips to Dubai and the Caribbean, with those sharp, killer heels and proper, old-fashioned stockings, with huge contact lists and no time for ordinary family time – that's my mother. Which is why I'm lucky; I have Kay.

Kay is Helena's mother and my mother's adopted sister. We've lived next door to each other since before Helena was born, and Kay was also always the one to look after me. Whenever I was lonely or bored, I'd go out into the garden, through the old, oak door between our backyards and into Kay's house. Because I don't have a father, I always relied on Kay whenever my mother wasn't around – which was (and is) a lot.

So, I'd go see motherly, cuddly Kay. You could tell Kay and Mum aren't sisters; Kay's got violently red hair for one, which she gave to her daughter, along with slate grey eyes and a button nose – totally unlike my mother's hawk features. Kay has freckles and chubby cheeks. She's the sweet little mother who'd take in any stray that comes across her, most recently our cat, Luca. In fact, she sorta reminds me of Mrs Weasley from Harry Potter, except without the attitude and the seven children.

And running down a cliff path with my hair everywhere and my feet skidding over pebbles, regardless of the forty foot drop two feet to my left, was a nice reminder of my childhood, which I thought I'd lost.

I have been doing _far_ too much thinking recently.

But suffice to say, we probably could have died (fallen off over the cliff edge), broken our bones (those large rocky-things we were playing on) and drowned (falling off the cliff into the sea) – it was fun!

We got to the beach, and just sat. By the time we had recovered our breath the sun was staring to sink into the horizon and winter's early evening was creeping on to us, I'm so glad I brought a fleece.

"We'd better go home you know." I felt her turn to me, though I was still facing the sea.

"Soon Oll, but not yet." Smiling at the nickname, I stood up. We're in wellies, why don't we make use?

"Race you to the sea?" and like the compulsive little children we were we flew, giggling, towards the endless expanse of water.

XxXxX

"Where the hell have you two been, and why the hell are you both soaking?" Max, Helena's brother was sitting on the stairs, obviously waiting for us to get home. "In fact, don't even bother, you left me all day with those nutjobs!" unable to squash my snickering at his indignant face, I bounded over and gave him a hug.

Max looks like the General did twenty years ago; I know, I've seen photos. Aged nearly eighteen, he's as tall as his dad, and just as broad. His face is what catches the eye though, like he's carved from marble – his skin is that pale, and contrast with pitch black (and messy) black hair. High cheekbones, kind mouth, slate gray eyes framed with long (yet not remotely feminine) lashes, and – oh God – _dimples_. I haven't been looking per se, but I just ... spend a lot time around his family.

"Aw, we're sorry, but you survived, it couldn't have been that bad." The glare sent in my direction contradicted and said that yes, it was that bad. "Nyah, you'll get over it."

"I hate you both, and dinner's practically on the table, so I suggest you clean up; you two look like you've been dragged through a bush backwards." Oh, the complements.

Still, we scampered upstairs to make ourselves slightly less damp and somewhat more orderly, before scampering right back down again.

XxXxX

Dinner was nothing special, just the usual: Max glared at his father (now _that_ I wouldn't mind investigating), Mum twittered around Helena and rambled on and on about what an opportunity we'd missed and Kay just sent us amused glances. I truly love that woman.

After dinner was just the usual too, we curled up together – one great pile of kids – while the parents sipped wine and discussed headlands and bays, and watched a cheesy crime drama on telly.

We ate ice-cream right under my mother's nose – she'd flip if she knew – at eleven and finally hauled ourselves up to bed a half-hour later. I fell asleep in the twin room I shared with Helena, lulled by the sound of her breathing and the hum of words downstairs.

Our last night of 'the usual' as we'd ever know it.

**A/N: I think that is as close to a cliffy as I've ever been. Hmm. Not sure if I like it. Oh, and if I get too serious, someone kick me, it can't be good for my system.**

**Please review!! You can have a life-sized cut-out of your favourite character if you do!!**


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